


nothing is infinite

by Anjali_Organna



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M, Grief/Mourning, Investigative Reporter!Iris, ladyfriendships, reasonable amount of angst given the circumstances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-01
Updated: 2015-09-01
Packaged: 2018-04-18 08:30:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4699190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjali_Organna/pseuds/Anjali_Organna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>nothing is infinite, not even loss.</p><p>you are made of the sea and the stars, and one day, you are going to find yourself again.</p><p>[Post S1; Iris West in the aftermath.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	nothing is infinite

**Author's Note:**

> This fic goes AU right after S1 ends and does not take any of the S2 spoilers/new characters into account. Many many thanks to kepp0xy and gnimaerd for their help and encouragement.
> 
> The title and epigraph are from the poem [Saltwater](http://dystopiandreamhotel.tumblr.com/saltwater) by Finn Butler.

_nothing is infinite,_  
_not even loss._

 _You are made of the sea and the stars, and one day,_  
_you are going to find yourself again._

 

Later, Iris will not be able to remember precisely how Barry closes the singularity. She remembers the terrifying vortex swirling above the city, sucking in buildings and cars. She remembers Dr. Stein talking, and maybe Cisco or her dad, and Barry saying he has to try. She remembers watching Barry become nothing more than a streak of red, flashing up the side of a building and disappearing into the sky. She remembers feeling numb.

*

It’s a little like waking up the morning after a night spent drinking heavily, the way her memory is fractured and scattered. She recalls the feel of tile underneath her hands, her fingertips rubbing against the grout. She’d thrown up the meal she and Eddie had eaten together, before Barry had gone back in time. Even after her stomach is empty, she dry heaves convulsively before resting her forehead against the cool porcelain. Her breath shudders in and out, scraping against a throat rubbed raw.

The next memory she has is of being huddled against the wall in some room in STAR Labs. Someone’s given her a blanket, or maybe it’s just a STAR Labs sweatshirt. Despite this, she’s cold, so cold. 

She wakes up in her old room, in her father’s house, with no recollection of getting there. She’s intensely grateful to whomever thought of this kindness—Eddie has never slept here. She doesn’t have to combat a memory of the shape of him in this bed.

She goes downstairs, answers questions by rote. Someone hands her a mug of tea. Someone puts toast in front of her. Later, someone suggests that a shower might make her feel better and bleak amusement reaches her for a moment.

She goes back upstairs instead, pulls the comforter over her head. Tries for sleep.

*

Caitlin stops by the house a day or so later. She sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing one hand on the comforter. Iris is confused until Caitlin begins to speak. “After the particle accelerator exploded, there were so many people who told me I should be proud of Ronnie, for what he did. How he sacrificed himself to save people.”

Iris catches her breath, a lump forming in her throat.

“I just wanted to tell you—it’s okay to hate those people, just a little.” Caitlin gives her a small smile. “Eddie did an incredible thing, an amazing thing. But you should know: it’s okay to be mad at him, too, for…for leaving you. It doesn’t mean you love him any less.”

“Does…” Iris croaks out, trying to swallow, “does it get any easier?”

Caitlin thinks for a minute. “‘Easier’ might not be the right word. But yes, eventually. You learn to live with it.”

Sunlight catches on the metal band circling Caitlin’s left ring finger and for a moment Iris can’t breathe, remembering the way the blood spread over Eddie’s chest. She’s a cop’s daughter. She knows there are things people don’t come back from. But then Caitlin says, “You’re stronger than you think you are. But just know, if you feel like breaking…there are people around you who will catch you. Who will pick up the pieces. You’re not alone, Iris.”

And Iris does cry at that, which is something of a miracle in and of itself: she’d thought she’d run dry. Caitlin says nothing but her hand on Iris’s leg is a steady, comforting weight. After a while, Iris says, “I think I’d like to be by myself for a while.” Caitlin nods, squeezes her leg gently, and leaves as quietly as she came in.

*

The funeral passes by in a blur of uniformed police and shining medals and stiff mourners dressed in black. Captain Singh gives a eulogy, all solemn words and heavy pauses, and every time he utters the word “hero” Iris flinches. The casket is empty and she can’t look directly at it, this wooden monstrosity draped in an American flag. There’s a moment at the end, when the flag is folded up and the Captain hesitates briefly in front of her before he hands it to Eddie’s mother. When he looks back at her, his eyes are apologetic, and she thinks about the ring that she never got a chance to wear. Her father stands next to her, solid and steady. Barry is on his other side. She doesn’t look at either of them.

She’s only met Eddie’s parents a few times before. They were gracious to her then, and they are kind and gentle with her now, even in the face of their own grief. It’s clear that Eddie’s death has shattered them both. They stay in Central City afterwards, helping Iris pack up Eddie’s belongings. A day after the funeral, she’d walked into the bedroom she’d shared with Eddie only to find his mother on the floor, clutching one of his shirts to her chest. She’s not weeping, but tears are making silent tracks down her face as she fingers the soft material. Iris backs quietly out of the room and stands, stricken, in the hallway. She doesn’t know how to help this woman. She doesn’t know where to even begin.

Barry had offered to pack everything for her using his speed and for an instant she’d physically recoiled from him. The suggestion isn’t wrong; he thinks he’s being helpful. He’s trying to spare her more pain. But she doesn’t want to be spared, especially not by him. It’s important to her that she not take any shortcuts. She owes Eddie that much. 

Barry sees her recoil and his face shuts down. He mumbles something and leaves, and she’s sure he uses his Flash speed as soon as he’s out of her sight. Watching him walk away, shoulders hunched, makes Iris want to cry, for his pain, for her own, for everything that has gotten so unbelievably screwed up. Part of her wants to call him back but the rest of her is slowed by the weight of the last two weeks and the knowledge of everything she has yet to get through.

Going through her and Eddie’s apartment is like picking at a scab still forming over a wound.  His parents try to tell her to take some of the things from the apartment, but Iris can’t bring herself to do so. Most of it was originally Eddie’s anyways, cobbled together from various bachelor apartments. She’d bought new linens when she’d moved in, telling him that he was a grownup now and it was time to spend money on sheets with a decent thread count and he’d laughingly asked her what would be suitable for her delicate skin. These Iris gets rid of. They’d bought a few prints and posters for the walls together, things they’d stumbled across at flea markets and the like. But there hadn’t been time for them to really build a home for themselves, one that reflected their shared tastes, their shared vision for the future. And now she has so little to remember him by.

*

Keeping the apartment is out of the question—even if Iris had wanted to stay, there’s no way she can afford it by herself. Her dad clearly wants her to come home where he and Barry can take care of her, but that is also out of the question. After one torturous afternoon where Joe rejects every single apartment she looks at for various safety-related offenses, she banishes him from her hunt. Caitlin goes with her instead and though she inspects each building with a critical eye and asks questions Iris wouldn’t have even thought of, she also has a practical, matter-of-fact air about her that Iris finds deeply reassuring.

“I lived by myself for years in crappy apartments,” she explains calmly, opening up a closet and peering behind the door. “Poor struggling med students can’t afford to be too picky. Hmmm, mold on the ceiling. They must have had a leak in the unit above.”

In the end, Iris finds a studio in an area of town that doesn’t cause her dad to have a complete meltdown. There’s a small grocery store on the corner and the basement laundry room isn’t totally creepy (“And you don’t even have to go outside to access it,” Caitlin crows triumphantly, “you’ll thank me this winter,”) and the windows are big and let in lots of light. 

She paints the walls a cheerful yellow and Barry and her dad and Cisco help her move her stuff up the four flights of stairs. Caitlin unpacks boxes and somehow manages to fit Iris’s second-hand furniture into the tiny space in a way that actually makes the place appear bigger than it is. After everything is arranged to Caitlin’s satisfaction, they all stand awkwardly around, trying to make small talk. They clearly don’t want to leave her alone. After an hour, she finally manages to kick them out, pleading exhaustion. 

She perches on the battered couch, taking it all in. It’s been so long since she’s truly been on her own, with no immediate prospect of company in some shape or form, and she has no idea what to do with herself. After a moment, sounds from her surroundings begin to register: cars passing on the street below, a dog barking in the neighborhood, a faint conversation carrying from somewhere else in the building. Iris listens to the world continuing on as it always does, heedless of things like personal tragedies and trampled hearts, and feels less alone.

*

After a few more days, she goes back to work. She has nothing else to do; Eddie’s parents have returned home and there’s only so many times she can rearrange her cutlery drawer. Additionally, even though her bosses had told her to take all the time she needs, Iris keeps getting confused texts from the reporter who’d been assigned to cover the singularity and the subsequent metahumans popping up with increasing frequency. She’d had to turn off the pop-up notifications on her phone for the email address listed on her blog—everyone, it seems, is aware that something strange is going on in Central City, and they’re all desperate to talk to her about it.

She sits through a three-hour long editorial meeting that covers everything from how to tell if something’s been photoshopped, a disagreement over whether metahuman should be spelled with a hyphen or not (two copyeditors nearly came to blows over _that_ one), a confused and meandering discussion of singularities, and ends with a promotion. For Iris, that is. 

“We’re embedding your blog into the homepage,” Geoff, the editor-in-chief, says. “We’ve got enough material for some sidebars on a couple of these metahumans, but Carl’s really struggling to find anything concrete on the…singularity…thing, and he has gotten absolutely nowhere trying to get in touch with your Flash friend. Get me an interview, Iris. It’s graduation day.” He stomps off, yelling to his deputy about how they need to hire a _real_ science reporter, like yesterday. Iris sits back at her desk, breathing out slowly. 

 _We need to talk_ , she texts Barry. _Can you bring my dad and meet me at STAR Labs?_

*

Walking into STAR Labs feels strange but good—she likes having a purpose, likes having something to focus on. Also gratifying is the way the rest of the group looks at her expectantly, with none of the evasiveness of the past few months. For the first time, she feels like she belongs there with them, a valued part of the team. 

“ _Picture News_ is planning a feature about the metahumans in Central City,” she says briskly, wanting to jump right into things. “They want to lead with the Flash. My editor asked me to get an interview.”

“No way,” Barry says, and Iris is startled by the vehemence in his voice. “I’m not doing an interview, Iris.”

“Barry,” she says, “It’s out there. You’re out there. People are going to keep digging until they find _something_. Isn’t it better if I’m the one writing the story? Controlling it?”

“She’s right, Bear,” her dad says heavily. “That Carl guy’s been sniffing around the station for the last two weeks, asking questions.”

“I didn’t start doing this so that people would think I’m some…some _hero_.”

“But you _are_ ,” Iris replies. “It doesn’t matter anymore what your motivations are, or were. There are a million videos on YouTube of you racing up to stop that singularity—” and here she turns to Cisco and Ronnie—“It would be great, by the way, if you could explain to me, using very small words, just exactly what happened there.”

“No problem,” Cisco says. “Wait—how small are you talking?”

“I think _Picture News_ aims to write for people with an eighth-grade reading level?”

“Oh.” Cisco deflates. “I skipped eighth grade.”

“I’m not doing it.” Barry shakes his head. “I’m not a hero.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Caitlin asks, crossing the room to touch him gently on the arm.

“Because,” Barry bursts out, “I didn’t even—we wouldn’t even _be_ here if I hadn’t gone back in time, if I hadn’t… And I didn’t save my mom after all, I couldn’t even stop the Reverse Flash. I didn’t save you guys, _Eddie_ did.”

This last is said with an anguished look at Iris, and even though she’d known what was coming, had tried to brace for it, the words still catch her across the chest like a lash. 

Someday, she thinks, the word _Eddie_ spoken aloud won’t have the power to hurt her anymore: it’ll just be the name of a man she loved, once. An ordinary man, in extraordinary circumstances, who did the best that he could with the limited power he was given. It isn’t his fault that the only power he had was over his own life. Someday, she may even be able to forgive him for his sacrifice. She’s not sure that she’ll ever be able to forgive herself for not loving him in the way that he deserved.

Iris takes a breath. “Nevertheless, people are asking for you. We need to come up with some ground rules.”

“For what?” Joe asks.

“What we want to tell people. About…about everything that happened.” She gestures around the room. “About all of this.”

“It would be good,” Caitlin says hesitantly, “to be able to warn the public about the dangerous metas that are out there.” She glances at Ronnie, a smile crossing her face. “And the not-so-dangerous ones.”

Iris nods. “That’s just it. Think of all the people we can help protect by making sure they’re better informed. And think about all the metas who’ve been struggling with what has been happening to them since the particle accelerated exploded, and the new ones that came from the singularity. Barry, your example could help them to get the answers they need.”

“Maybe even prevent a few of them from robbing banks or whatever,” Cisco says. “Use their powers for good and not evil.”

“Keep them away from the dark side.” Iris smiles at him and he grins delightedly back.

“You _have_ seen at least one movie, thank god.”

“It’s _Star Wars_ , Cisco, of course I’ve seen it.”

Barry’s shaking his head again, his lips pressed tight. “I don’t want to be set up as some sort of paragon. I don’t deserve it.” Before anyone can speak, he pushes off the center console and strides out. Caitlin makes a move to follow him, but Iris says, “Wait, I’ll go.”

“You sure?” Joe asks.

Iris flicks him a glance on her way out but doesn’t say anything. Frankly, she’s not sure she’s ready to have this conversation right now, but on the other hand, it’s Barry. Of course she’s going.

*

Barry’s not anywhere in STAR Labs, but she knows where he’s gone. What she doesn’t expect is the look of surprise that crosses his face when he turns and sees her standing on the rooftop with him.

“You didn’t think I’d find you here?” she says, keeping her voice light.

“I…” He swallows. “I didn’t think you’d come. After me. And no one else knows about this place, so…”

“Why’d you think I wouldn’t come after you?”

“Well,” he says. “Well, because.” His hand flutters by his side and is abruptly stilled. Then he turns and leans against the wall, looking out over the city.

“Because of Eddie?” she asks after a moment. Barry glances quickly at her and then away again. She takes a breath. “Barry, it’s not your fault.”

“How can you say that?” His voice is strained. “We _had_ Wells. I was the one who agreed to let him out again. _I_ used the particle accelerator to go back in time, despite knowing the risks to the city, to all of us. And after all that, I didn’t even…” he trails off. Iris glances down at his hand, gripping the ledge. His knuckles are white. “I didn’t even save my mom. All of this was for nothing.”

And she _can’t_ hear him say this, she can’t hear that Eddie died for nothing. “You don’t control other people’s actions, Barry. Eddie chose—”

“He wouldn’t have _had_ to choose,” Barry says brutally, “if not for me. How can you…” He trails off, running his hands through his hair, disgust written all over his face. “How can you even _look_ at me?”

Then Iris understands: it’s not about her, not really. She’s just the convenient target. “Because despite everything, I still believe in you, Barry. And despite everything, so did Eddie.” 

He laughs and the tone is jagged, like a saw across her skin. “Well, look where that got you.”

Iris steps backwards, away from him. “Don’t. Don’t you _dare_ belittle what he did for you, for all of us.”

His face goes blank. “Iris—”

“No,” she says angrily. “If you want to have a pity party for yourself, that’s fine. But there are people back there—Cisco, Caitlin, Ronnie, _my dad_ —they’ve worked their asses off because they believe in you and in what you’re doing. What _we’re_ doing. If you can’t honor that, if you disrespect what Eddie did, well, then Eobard Thawne really _has_ won, because _you’ve_ let him.”

Barry stares at her helplessly. Iris is aware that her breath is coming fast, and tries to calm herself down. But it doesn’t seem fair to her that Barry is now projecting _his_ guilt onto her, and everyone else around them. She can’t handle it. Her own is already too much.

“I’m sorry,” she says, her voice rough. “I thought I could…” She takes a deep, gulping breath, exhaling slowly. Beyond Barry, she can see the sun slouching toward the horizon, warming the sky as it goes with pinks and oranges and yellows. The sunset tonight will be spectacular.

“Just think about the interview,” she says. Barry’s face tightens, but before he can respond, she continues, “You don’t have to agree if you really don’t want to do it. But think about it. For me,” she adds. She knows this is unfair. But Eddie is dead. And Barry has been given extraordinary powers that can help change the world for the better. Some good _has_ to come of it. Iris is going to make sure of it.

*

“Nothing?” Geoff growls, stopping by Iris’s desk.

“I’m working on it,” she replies, swiveling her chair to face him. “He’s still a little shaken up from the singularity.”

“You sure you won’t be fitted for a recording device?” Even as he says it, his eyes slide away from her, as though he can’t quite believe he’s suggesting it either. Iris smiles gently. “You know we can’t do that. Besides, he’d never speak to me again. But we do have some good stuff in the pipeline—the interview with Firestorm is running tomorrow.”

“Hmph,” he says. “There’s something weird about that guy.”

“Besides the ability to spontaneously combust?” She keeps her face relaxed, not wanting Geoff to suspect that she knows exactly who Firestorm is, and further, that there are two men, not one, who make him up—one of the preconditions of Dr. Stein and Ronnie agreeing to the interview in the first place. 

Later, Linda swings by her desk, holding out her phone. They’d reached a tentative accord of sorts after Iris had forwarded Linda an email she’d received from the father of a young meta who had developed superspeed pitching abilities. Linda’s article on the meta had resulted in frantic phone calls from MLB franchises across the country; ever since she’d periodically stop by Iris’s desk to gleefully read aloud the envious tweets and comments from various sports reporters across the country. 

Iris scans the phone and laughs. “Man, doesn’t this Bill Simmons guy have anything better to do?”

Linda takes the phone back, grinning happily. “I’m sure once his new show starts up he’ll lay off, but in the meantime, I can’t help but be super smug about all of it.”

“Listen,” Iris says impulsively, “Would you want to grab a drink tonight? I’m meeting Maya at the bar around eight—do you know her? New science reporter?”

“Oh,” Linda says. “Yeah. Um. Sure.” A pause. “Who else will be there?”

“Just Maya,” Iris says firmly, and then pauses herself for a minute. “Barry and I…things have been a little off lately.”

Linda nods slowly. “Because of Eddie?”

“Yeah,” Iris says. It’s a bit strange to be talking about this with Linda of all people, but on the other hand, it’s not as though just anyone would have a hope of understanding. “It’s only been a month and a half.”

Linda smiles crookedly. “Give it time. I…I have a feeling that Barry’s waited much longer than a month and a half.” She pushes off the desk. “I’ll see you tonight.”

Iris sits back in her chair, sighing. It’s true that Barry has waited longer, much longer than Linda can guess, but that isn’t the problem anymore. There are layers of complication here that go beyond love, beyond blame.

*

It’s strange, but Caitlin was right. ‘Easier’ isn’t the exact word for it; it’s almost more a matter of endurance. She no longer flinches when she hears his name. She no longer has to brace herself at any mention of his death. As time passes, Iris is able to see more clearly that Eddie hadn’t just left her alone, he’d left her with the burden of his sacrifice for her. Accepting this burden as the gift it was intended to be takes more grace than Iris, some days, is able to muster. Those are the bad days, when she can hardly bring herself to get out of bed, sure that there is no way she can live up to the expectations that she’s now set for herself, because she was the one to survive.

And it is a matter of grace and of acceptance. But knowing that doesn’t make things any easier. 

*

It’s not off all the time. There are moments where Barry and Iris are able to fall back into the familiar banter of their childhood and adolescence and it’s like nothing ever happened. But inevitably one of them will remember and will fall silent, and the moment is over.

Barry continues to refuse an interview, but his life goes on as the Flash. Consequently there are more and more witness accounts of his exploits; more and more articles about this rescue and that good deed; the legend continues to grow. It’s a little strange for Iris to continue to write about the Flash, knowing that she’s really writing about Barry. She tries to be objective and and is aware that if anything, her tone only grows more admiring. It’s odd; there are things she doesn’t feel comfortable expressing to Barry face-to-face in the wake of Eddie’s death. She puts the sentiment behind them in her writing instead. 

Now that Iris is firmly a member of Team Flash and furthermore, has clearly become the go-to person for metahuman sightings in Central City, Cisco points out that her phone and laptop should probably be encrypted for security purposes. He does something to both of them that results in Iris needing to remember two ridiculously long passwords for each device. “You should change them every month or so,” he tells her and she gives him a dirty look.

The _Picture News_ editors swing from delighted at the coverage Iris does get of the other metas to disgruntled at her failure to land the biggest prize of all. She knows that if things were better between her and Barry, she could have gotten him to agree to an interview weeks ago. She’s not worried about her job security; her blog continues to be one of the top traffic draws for the _Picture News_ website. On top of that, she’s still the only reporter the Flash has ever spoken to, and she allows her bosses to think that it is only a matter of time. Perhaps it will be.

*

Iris probably should have predicted what would happen when she finally introduces Maya and Cisco. She grew up with Barry: she’s used to participating in conversations that are half over her head, but their discussion is on a whole other level. Barry, Ronnie, and Caitlin are all following along, but Linda catches her eye and jerks her thumb towards the bar. “Drink?”

They slide onto stools and Linda waves at the bartender. “Two shots of tequila, best you got.” At Iris’s raised eyebrows, she says, “I have a feeling the rest of the night is going to be totally incomprehensible. Might as well be tipsy for it.”

Iris laughs, grabbing a salt shaker. The bartender shoves two slices of lime their way along with the shots and they take them. She shudders as the alcohol burns its way down and sucks on a lime. Linda’s making a similar face, grinning around the wedge in her mouth. “So that’s happening,” she says, nodding towards Cisco and Maya. The former is waving his hands animatedly in the air and the latter is laughing up at him, face aglow. 

Iris spits out the lime. “Looks like it. Hopefully they’ll have ridiculously cute and nerdy babies together.”

“Mmm,” Linda says. “So, you met with Geoff about the headlines?”

“Ugh.” Iris thumps her head down on the bar in front of her. “Did you _see_ yesterday’s?”

Linda giggles. “It was kind of funny.”

“No. No, it was not funny. It was the opposite of funny.” She’s been in a protracted battle with the paper’s editors, who have taken to creating their own extremely pun-filled headlines for her blog articles that run in the print editions of _Picture News_. Iris had argued that most of the metahumans did not find what was happening to them to be particularly funny and it was therefore disrespectful to reduce them to caricatures, even if it was only in the headlines. Geoff was unimpressed with this argument: “Think of it as marketing,” he’d said. “We gotta get people interested in reading the articles in the first place. Short and punchy is what works.”

“It’s basically click-bait headlines but for the paper,” she says now, forlornly tearing at her discarded lime peel.

“Yup,” Linda says, signaling for two more shots.

“I mean, we _know_ that people read the blog, we have the data for it,” Iris says. “Isn’t it reasonable to assume that readers of the print paper will be equally interested? Isn’t it unnecessary at this point?”

“Part of me thinks that Geoff just really likes puns,” Linda muses, her lips quirking up in amusement. “Not that he’d ever admit it.”

“Ugh,” Iris says again.

 Linda straightens on the stool, her expression turning serious. “But can I be perfectly honest for  a sec?” At Iris’s nod, she continues, “They give you a hell of a lot of leeway for a baby reporter—it’s kind of unprecedented. And you’re coming through for them, so it’s obviously paying off. There’s no question that you’re talented as hell, Iris, anyone with a half a brain can see that. The scoops and the access you’re getting—it’s phenomenal. And I _do_ agree with you that the headlines are dumb. But maybe…maybe you should pick a different battle, is all I’m saying.”

The bartender slides the second round of shots their way and they take them in silence as Iris digests this. “You think it’s not worth it?” she says finally.

“Well,” Linda says carefully, “I was thinking…I’m not entirely sure how different this is from some of the nicknames you give the metas—you know, like Clock King or Peek-a-boo.”

Iris involuntarily glances over at Cisco, still engrossed in conversation with Maya. Linda doesn’t know, of course, that Iris gets a lot of her nicknames from him. “Huh,” she says. “I never thought about that.”

Linda shrugs. “Yeah. Although now I feel like a total hypocrite—sports writers live for giving athletes nicknames.”

“Ah.” Iris brightens. “Doc Rivers. Magic. Air Jordan. The Mailman. Shaq. Wilt the Stilt.”

Linda stares at her. “You realize all your examples are NBA players from, like, the previous millennium, right?”

“I can keep going, if you want,” Iris offers, cheerful again.

“Oh my god,” Linda replies, waving her off. “Please stop. I’m embarrassed for you.”

Iris takes this as a signal to list even more of her dad’s favorite players, grinning, as Linda clutches her head in mock horror.

*

Cisco’s brows go up as Iris drops her stack of books on the desk next to his workstation. “Applying to law school now?” he says, eyeing the books on criminal justice and the law.

“I’m writing this opinion piece for the paper—pushing for new legislation that can address the specific needs of metahumans when it comes to their civil rights.” Iris sighs dramatically. “Only it’s turning out to be a lot more complicated than I thought. I’m a cop’s daughter, I basically grew up in this world! And yet…”

“Hmm.” Cisco tosses a heavy book back on the desk and Iris reaches for it as it starts to slide off. “You should talk to Laurel.”

Iris frowns. “Laurel Lance? You mean…”

Cisco grins brilliantly. “Black Canary? Yup. Badass crime-fighter in a suit by day, badass crime-fighter in a different suit by night.” He thinks for a moment. “That could be way cooler. ‘Double the suits, double the fun?’” Iris just looks at him. He makes a face. “I know. It needs work.” She nods emphatically.

“You wouldn’t happen to have her number, would you?”

“It’s in my phone,” Cisco says, looking around. “Which is…somewhere… Oh!” He bounds out of his chair, heading for the workroom. When Iris goes to follow him, he waves her away. “No, stay there, I’m working on some new tech, and…it’s not going very well.”

He reappears some moments later, clutching his phone. “Whatcha working on?” Iris asks, more out of idle curiosity than anything else.

Cisco runs a hand through his hair, distracted. “Just…something to help with my visions.”

“Are you seeing anything more concrete?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Nothing I can really make sense of.”

“If there’s anything I can do…”

He smiles at her. “I know. Now, let’s see, Laurel Lance. I’ll text you her contact info.”

“Thanks.”

Her father has complained about enough ADAs over the years that Iris has some idea of what to expect with Laurel. But to her surprise, the latter is incredibly helpful, if rather harried. “Sorry,” she says apologetically after Iris finally gets ahold of her after four or five missed connections. “Things are pretty crazy around here.”

“Daughter of a cop,” Iris says in reply. “I know what it’s like.”

“Oh, that’s right—Joe West? He came up to Starling City with Cisco last year.”

“Did he?” Iris says, momentarily diverted. She pushes down her residual annoyance at her father, thinking _Not now_. 

“How can I help you?”

Iris explains, and Laurel listens attentively. “I’ve actually been thinking a lot about that myself. I have a couple ideas, of course, but, um…Well. Maybe not over the phone?”

“Oh,” Iris says, understanding immediately. “Right. Listen, could you meet me for an hour or so if I come up to Starling City?”

“Do you mind?” Laurel says. “Unfortunately, I don’t think I can get away to Central City right now, with…everything.”

“It’s not a problem,” Iris says. “Let me check the train schedule and I’ll text you.”

Laurel, it turns out, has excellent taste in food and even better taste in jackets. She and Iris spend the first five minutes mutually gushing over each other’s fashion sense, the next ten bitching about certain people who think keeping secrets is the best way to ensure the safety of their loved ones, and then nearly an hour and a half discussing the challenges inherent in policing, prosecuting, and legislating metahumans and superheroes.

“I wish I could stay longer,” Laurel says wistfully, after glancing at her phone and yelping at the passage of time. “This was fun.”

“I know,” Iris agrees. “It’s fascinating to get your perspective on everything.”

“Let me know if you ever consider law school,” Laurel says and laughs at Iris’s horrified expression. “I’m kidding! But not really. You’d make a terrific lawyer.”

“I just got done with school,” Iris says. “I don’t need any more student loans.”

“On that note, let me pick up the check,” Laurel replies and then threatens to use her Canary Cry if she doesn’t get her way.

Iris leaves lunch with a legal pad full of notes. It’s good, useful, _practical_ information, and Laurel sends her away with a truly intimidating reading list. She offers to read over Iris’s draft and Iris gratefully accepts but then she gets Laurel’s notes back and it’s like Track Changes has thrown up all over her nice pretty article. 

“You’re even more brutal than my editor,” Iris texts her. “¯\\_(ツ)_/¯,” Laurel responds, which makes Iris laugh out loud in the middle of the _Picture News_ bullpen.

After a couple go-rounds with her editors, the article is finally published, both online and in the paper’s opinion section. Iris is prepared for a strong response—the emergence of metahumans is still too new, and for some people, too frightening, for it to be anything but.

She’s not prepared for the hate mail.

*

Maya’s the one who outs her to the rest of Team Flash with an aside to Cisco, who of course turns right around and tells everyone else. Her father comes storming into _Picture News_ and Iris has to hustle him into the break room before he begins yelling in front of the entire staff.

“Your article was published a _week_ ago, Iris, how could you not tell me?”

“Because I was trying to avoid exactly this sort of reaction, Dad,” she says, surreptitiously checking around to see if anyone overheard.

“People are threatening you, baby, you don’t think this is the sort of thing you tell me immediately?”

“Dad, they aren’t specific threats or anything, it’s more along the lines of ‘How dare you suggest metahumans have rights,’ blah blah blah.”

Her father glowers at her. “I will be the judge of what is and is not a specific threat. I’m the cop here, not you.”

“You think I’m the first reporter to get hate mail?” she snaps, beginning to lose her temper. “Come on, Dad, be reasonable.”

“You’re the first person related to _me_ to get hate mail,” he thunders back. “And no, I will _not_ be reasonable.”

“Keep your voice down,” she hisses. “You’re embarrassing me, god.”

“Show me the letters, Iris, or I swear, I’ll instruct two uniforms to follow you around day and night. See how you deal with the embarrassment _then_.”

“Ugh,” she says, throwing up her hands, but she hands over the folder of letters because she knows her dad isn’t playing around.

He sits down at her desk, his face dark, and starts going through them. Linda comes up behind Iris, shoulder-bumping her sympathetically.

“That was probably predictable,” she says. “He _is_ a cop.”

“Why’d you think I avoided telling him?” Iris says glumly.

“Two years ago, I wrote a column predicting—accurately, I might add—that the Royals were going to finish last in the Central Division, and I got hate mail for like, half of the season,” Linda says. “Think your dad would feel better if I told him that?”

Iris shoots her friend a look. “I doubt it.”

“Yeah,” Linda agrees, annoyingly cheerful. “Weeeell, have fun with that!”

Her father’s face grows even more thunderous as he reads, which Iris hadn’t even thought possible. She sighs. It’s going to be a very long day.

*

In the end, Iris is able to convince her father that uniforms following her around ( _honestly_ ) is overkill. Cisco, perhaps somewhat abashed due to the fact that this is _all his fault_ , offers to make Iris a sort of panic button for her keychain. The alarm, when triggered, will get sent to her father, STAR Labs, and Barry. 

It doesn’t work perfectly at first (“First generation tech,” Cisco says later, “What can you do?”). Iris is at the bar with a large portion of the _Picture News_ staff after a long day at the office, and she must have leaned against her purse, setting off the alarm inside. All she knows is that one minute she’s laughing at something Tom, one of the business reporters, has said and the next minute, Barry is by her side, a hand on her elbow.

“Are you okay?” he says urgently as she blinks at him.

“Wha—what?”

He leans down close to her ear, his voice low. “Your panic button went off.”

“Oh,” Iris says blankly, and then, “ _Oh_. I’m so sorry, I must have…” She twists around, digging in her bag.

Barry steps away from her, his face smoothing out into something expressionless. “Ah. False alarm. No worries.” He tries for a nonchalant look, his eyes darting to Tom standing on Iris’s other side. “Sorry, I’ll let you get back to it…”

“Wait,” Iris says. Barry stops, still half-turned away from her. “Stay for a drink?”

She can see him hesitate. “I don’t want to interrupt…”

“You’re not,” she says, and motions to Tom. “This is Tom, one of my coworkers.” She glances at Barry. “I’d introduce you to his husband as well, but Linda’s kicking his ass in darts right now.”

“Oh,” Barry says.

Iris hides a smile. “Tom, this is my friend Barry.”

“Nice to meet you,” Tom says easily. “And speaking of my husband, I’d better go rescue him before he brings further shame onto the family.”

“Too late,” Iris says, and he makes a face at her before moving away. She turns her attention back to Barry. “So how about that drink?”

He’s quiet for a moment, just looking at her. Then he nods and says, “You’d better text Joe. Let him know everything’s cool.”

“Oh, right.” Iris hauls out her phone and types a quick message as Barry slides onto the now-empty stool and motions to the bartender. She raises a brow when he orders a beer. “I thought you couldn’t get drunk.”

He shrugs. “I still like the taste.”

“Fair enough.”

Even though the bar is full of _Picture News_ staffers, people Iris has worked with over the last nine months, a space seems to open up around her and Barry, separating them from the rest of the room. It’s the first time they’ve been alone without some part of Team Flash in quite a while. Iris brushes her thumb up and down over the smooth glass in her hand as she casts around for some subject to fill the space between them. “How are things with Gideon coming?”

“Oh,” Barry says, his face clearing and his eyes brightening with pleasure. “I mean, I spend about half the time totally confused—even though Gideon’s from a future not even a decade away, imagine if 1995 you was given an iPhone from today, ‘cause technology doesn’t really move at a linear pace, so…”

Iris can’t help but smile fondly as he goes full nerd, the cadence of his voice and the excited gestures of his hands so familiar to her. She’s missed this, missed him. Missed listening to her best friend expound on a subject that enthralls him completely, sure that his own enthusiasm will carry her with him, even if she only vaguely understands what he’s saying. It’s one of the things that she’s always loved about Barry: he doesn’t condescend to her, even when he knows that she has only a passing familiarity with whatever it is he’s talking about.

She stops him now a few times, makes him explain a concept more fully or back up and flesh out a leap of logic that he’s made in his mind. It _is_ fascinating, once she understands the basics. “You know, if you were less of a good person, you’d be busy writing patents right now.”

He laughs aloud, surprised. “For the future tech, you mean?” He rubs his chin thoughtfully. “I mean, I _did_ invent Gideon. Or I will.” He frowns. “I would have?”

She shakes her head. “You’re gonna have to check with Cisco on that one. And anyways, the last thing you need is to have all of Silicon Valley camped out in your backyard, trying to figure out where all this stuff is coming from.”

“True.”

“Oh, speaking of Google,” she says, grabbing her phone. “I’ve been meaning to show you this. Check out what someone sent me.” She pulls up the photo, sliding it across the bar to Barry. He studies the photo for a minute and then understanding crosses his face. “Wait…is this what I think it is?”

Iris grins. “Yup.” It’s a screen cap from Google Street View, showing a streak of red flashing down a street. “You must have run by at just the right time.”

Barry laughs again. “That’s amazing.”

“You’re Google Street View famous.”

“Well, now I know I’ve _really_ made it,” he says, straight-faced, and she giggles. He smiles, eyes steady and warm as he watches her. Then he says, “I’ve missed you, Iris,” echoing her own thoughts from before. She sobers, meeting his eyes. “I know. I’ve missed you, too.”

His hand rests on the bar next to his glass. Iris reaches out, covering it with her own, and as she touches him, a spark flashes between their skin. They both start, staring at each other. “Sorry,” Barry says uncertainly, but he doesn’t remove his hand from under hers.

Iris drops his gaze, feeling a flush work its way up her throat. “You didn’t do anything.” She glances back up in time to see Barry swallow and rub the back of his neck with his free hand self-consciously.

“I’ve…I’ve been trying to give you some space.”

“I know,” she says gently. “I appreciate it. But…I think I want my best friend back.”

Barry smiles again and the sweetness of it is enough to make her catch her breath. “I’m here,” he says. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

*

Caitlin _is_ right: it isn't easy, but time eventually smoothes away the rough edges of pain. You learn to live with absence. You find the laughter in your memories and you feel grateful for the moments that you were given. Iris knows how lucky she is to have endured her loss, and to come out stronger. She knows what she owes to Eddie's memory. She's so thankful that he believed in the world, and in her, so much that he thought it worth preserving, no matter the cost to himself. She's so thankful that she had a chance to know him.

*

She’s rifling through her jewelry box, searching for her favorite blue earrings, when a flash of gold catches her eye. She pulls out the replica of her mother’s wedding ring that Barry had given her nearly a year ago. She hasn’t worn it in months; she’d gotten the impression that Eddie had been a little uncomfortable with the gift, and then after he’d died she’d wanted nothing to do with wedding rings of any sort.

Slowly she slides it onto her own hand, admiring the way sunlight catches the metal band. It’s a little too big for her ring finger so she switches it to her right middle finger, slipping the chain back into the box.

Later, she’s working at STAR Labs when Caitlin says brightly, “Oh, I love that ring, where did you get it?”

Iris hesitates for a moment before answering. “Barry gave it to me. It’s a replica of my mom’s wedding ring.”

“It’s beautiful,” Caitlin proclaims as Barry glances over. “You’re wearing it,” he says. Iris isn’t sure but it sounds like his voice is breathless. 

She looks down self-consciously and shrugs. “I like it.” She doesn’t look up again and after a few more minutes Cisco comes bounding into the room, turning everyone’s attention away.

*

“This is by far your worst idea yet,” Linda says, shining her flashlight around the dark warehouse. “I can’t believe you talked me into this.”

“I didn’t ask you to come,” Iris says. She spies a promising-looking set of filing cabinets and crosses over to start opening drawers.

“Oh please,” Linda scoffs, trailing after her. “Like I’d let you come by yourself. You think I want to face your Dad if I had let you go and something had happened to you? You think I want to face _Barry_?”

“Hang on,” Iris says, opening a file and running her finger down the page. “This could be something. Hold this.” She hands Linda her flashlight and pulls out her phone, starting to snap photos.

“Hurry up,” Linda urges, looking over her shoulder.

“Keep your pants on,” Iris mutters, replacing the folder and opening up a new one. “Aha! Here we go.” For the last six weeks, she’s been investigating a series of attacks on the few businesses that are publicly known to be owned by metahumans. The attacks have been designed to appear random and unrelated, but Iris knows better. The warehouse she and Linda have broken into is owned by one of Central City’s most prominent businessmen. He hasn’t publicly stated his own opposition to metas but instead he’s been quietly funding some of the more vocal, extreme politicians who have suggested everything from a metahuman registry to outright imprisonment for all metas. Iris suspects him of funding the attacks as well, but she needs more proof. Hence, the warehouse.

Ten minutes later (Iris knows how much time has passed because Linda has been keeping a countdown out loud), she’s ready to go. They begin to retrace their steps out of the warehouse only to be confronted by Barry, in full Flash gear. 

“What the _hell_ are you doing?” He’s vibrating his vocal chords and his face, presumably so Linda doesn’t recognize him, but Iris can hear the anger in his voice.

“What are _you_ doing?” she counters, nonplussed.

“Looking out for you,” he snaps. “The guy who owns this place is dangerous, Iris.”

“Yeah, I know,” she says. “I’m the one who told you about him.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming here?” he persists.

“Uh, because I knew you’d overreact and hey—looks like I wasn’t wrong!”

“Iris—”

“Guys,” Linda says. “Maybe we could have this conversation after we’re out of the bad guy’s lair?”

Iris rolls her eyes. “It’s hardly a lair,” she protests, but Linda has a point.

“This isn’t over,” Barry hisses at her, but he turns to the side so they can slip past him and out the door.

She and Linda make it out safely, but when Barry goes to follow, he slams up against some invisible barrier. “What the—” he begins, and then an alarm goes off.

“Oh, shit,” Linda says.

“I can’t get through,” Barry says, sliding his hand up the invisible wall.

“Try backing up and running through it,” Iris suggests. Barry zips backward into the warehouse and then the next thing they know, the frame of the door shakes as he slams back into the barrier and bounces off.

“Barry!” Iris cries.

“ _What_?” says Linda.

“I’m okay,” says Barry, his voice groggy. “Dammit, that hurt.”

“Iris,” Linda begins, but Iris turns to her, pressing the car keys into her hand. “I’ll explain later. Go back to the car and start heading to the city. Call my dad, tell him what’s going on. He’ll know what to do.”

“No,” Barry says at the same time Linda says, “I’m not leaving you!”

“And I’m not leaving him,” Iris says simply. “It’ll be okay. Just go, now.”

“But—”

“We don’t have time,” Iris says. In the distance, they can hear dogs barking. “Oh, _shit_ ,” Linda repeats and takes off running in the direction of their car. Iris turns back to Barry.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to murder you,” he says. Iris ignores this, approaching the door. “Let me see if I can cross back inside.” She steps tentatively through the frame, relaxing when nothing happens. “Okay, so whatever this forcefield thing is, it’s just targeting you.”

Barry nods, touching his earpiece. “Cisco, I’m stuck in a warehouse. There’s some kind of forcefield preventing me from getting out, kind of like the trap you set up at STAR Labs. It’s not affecting Iris at all.” He listens for a moment, then nods and says, “Okay, I’ll try that.” He turns to Iris. “I’m gonna do a quick sweep of the place, see if I can find a power source.” He leaves in a whoosh of air and Iris counts up to fifteen before she’s lifted up and seconds later deposited in front of a glowing conduit board somewhere in the building.

“You could give a girl a warning,” she says breathlessly, steadying herself against Barry’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” he says absently. “Okay, I’m in front of the control panel.” He listens again and then begins working on the panel. Iris watches him for a moment before heading back down the hall, the barking dogs fresh in her mind. “Where are you…” Barry begins but she waves him off. “I’ll be right back. Keep working.”

She finds a window that looks out over the front of the warehouse, peering out into the night gloom. She can’t hear the dogs anymore and she doesn’t want to risk breaking the window, but she can see little pinpricks of light moving steadily closer. Flashlights, she realizes, and jogs back to Barry. “Not to rush you or anything, Bear, but they’re getting closer.”

He bangs the panel angrily. “Cisco, there’s gotta be another way.” He listens again to his earpiece, his face furrowed.

“What…” Iris starts but then her phone buzzes in her pocket. It’s Caitlin.

“Listen, Iris, the forcefield can be broken, but Barry has to run really, really fast to do it,” Caitlin says urgently.

“What’s the problem?” Iris asks.

“The last time he ran this fast, he…he went back in time.”

“You mean when he tried to save his mom?”

“No,” Caitlin says, “this was a different time.” Before Iris can process that, she continues, “He’s worried he’ll screw things up like he did that time.”

“I don’t understand, what did he screw up?”

“I’ll explain later, but Iris, he’s right to be worried. He has to maintain precise control—run fast enough to break the force field but not so fast that he changes time again.”

“And there’s no way we can just…shut it off?”

“Cisco doesn’t think so.”

“Okay,” Iris says. “Okay. He can do this. Don’t worry. I’ll call you when we’re out.”

“Be careful,” Caitlin says.

Iris slips the phone back into her jacket, her eyes on Barry. He’s still arguing with Cisco, his fingers flying over the panel as he works. “Barry,” she says.

“Hang on, Iris.”

“ _Barry_.”

He turns to her, annoyance and frustration the primary emotions written on his face but Iris knows Barry, better than she knows anyone else in the world. She can see the fear there as well.

“You can do this.”

“Iris, you don’t understand—”

“You can do this, Barry, I know you can.”

“Iris, I’ve gone back in time twice now and both times I screwed up. So badly, you can’t even know. This is dangerous, this is—”

“Barry,” she says firmly, moving in front of him and placing her hands on his shoulders. “I know you’re scared. I know that this isn’t what you want to do. But I’ve seen you do amazing things, incredible things, over the past year and a half. I _know_ you can do this. There is no one on this earth who I trust more than you.”

“Iris…” he says, his eyes panicked.

She steps closer, taking his face between her hands. He takes hold of her wrists, his grip tight. “There are people coming with those dogs. If we don’t leave soon, they’ll find both of us here. You know the man who owns this building, you know type of man he is. I don’t think he’s going to just let us go without a scratch. And I am _not leaving you_. I trust you to get me out of here safely. I _need_ you to get me out of here safely. You can do this. I believe in you.”

He stares down at her, his eyes alight. Without warning, he pulls her into him, kissing her hard. Iris doesn’t have time to react before he pulls away. “I love you,” he says, briefly, and then he picks her up and she can’t do anything except squeeze her eyes shut and hold on for dear life as the world goes rushing by. She can’t even tell when he crosses the forcefield, he’s moving so fast. When he sets her down in STAR Labs, she wobbles, dizzy, and would have fallen if not for Caitlin, reaching out to catch her. 

“You did it!” Cisco crows on the other side of the room where Barry’s bent over, hands on his knees, breathing hard.

“Thanks to Iris,” Barry gasps out, glancing up at her, but before she can respond, Joe sweeps into the room and Iris shoves the last five minutes to the back of her brain, to be dealt with later.

*

Before _later_ can happen, though:

“Really?” Linda says. “ _Really_?”

“I can explain,” Barry says.

“I know how you feel,” Iris says to Linda and Barry frowns at her. “Not helping!”

*

“Hey,” Barry says, sliding into a chair opposite her at Jitters.

“Hey, yourself,” Iris says. “I got your favorite.”

Barry picks up the mug in front of him, taking a sip. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She waits as he sets the mug down. “Barry…”

“I know,” he interrupts. “I know it hasn’t even been a year yet since…the singularity, and I’m not… I don’t expect anything from you, Iris.” He shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Can we just chalk it up to one of those ‘In the moment’ things and leave it at that?”

“Barry,” she says again.

“Look, if you want me to apologize for what I said, and for kissing you… I'm not sorry about either,” he says. “I’m not sorry for the way that I feel about you.” He pauses. “I’m sorry about not being sorry, though.”

She furrows her brows in consternation. “That doesn’t make any sense.” He inhales, presumably to start spewing nonsense again, so she says hurriedly, “But that’s not why I wanted to talk to you.”

He exhales and blinks. “Oh.”

“Are you going to let me finish this time?”

His smile is sheepish. “Sorry.”

“But are you _really?_ ” she murmurs, smirking a little, then continues, “I wanted to ask you again about the interview.” She leans forward and lowers her voice. “As the Flash.”

“Oh,” he says, sitting back.

“ _Picture News_ is running a story later today that includes a quote from _that man_ ,” she says. “He’s claiming that a meta broke into his warehouse.”

“Well,” Barry says, shrugging. “A meta did.”

“Technically, I broke in first,” Iris says. “But anyway. He’s using that to justify how metas are dangerous, ‘above the rule of law,’ I think was the exact quote.”

Barry wrinkles his nose in disgust but motions for her to keep going.

“The Flash is beloved in Central City. No, stop making that face, it’s true,” Iris says. “And unfortunately the police can’t use any of the information we found because it was, well…”

“Obtained illegally?”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “ _Anyway_. If _you_ , however, bring it up in an interview, while talking about all the other good you’ve done for Central City, why you’re doing it, as well as talk up all the good that other metas have also done and can continue to do…”

He sighs. “I don’t know, Iris…”

“Barry, it’s time,” Iris says. “Central City needs to hear from you.” She sits back in her chair and takes a sip from her own mug, letting him stew it over.

After what seems like an eternity, he says reluctantly, “How would it work?”

“It’ll be a print interview, and we can talk about the questions beforehand, if you like,” Iris says, careful not to let her excitement show. She certainly doesn’t want to spook him at this stage.

“I don’t want it to be some sort of hagiography.”

She grins. “Oh, I know you’re no saint, I only lived with you for how many years.”

“Can I have editorial approval?”

“Ha,” she says. “That’s funny. You’re funny.”

“Iris…”

“Do you trust me?”

He frowns at her. “That’s not fair.”

She reaches out and flicks his shoulder affectionately. “Trust me to do my job, Barry.”

He covers his face with his hands. “I’m totally going to regret this, aren’t I?”

She flicks harder. “Hey!”

“Okay,” he says. “When do you want to do this?”

“Give me a day to get organized. I’ll need to check in with my editors, too.”

“Oh, god. Here we go.”

“Seriously, trust me,” Iris says. “It’s going to be fine.”

He smiles at her crookedly. “I know. I do trust you.” His phone beeps and he glances down. “It’s the station. I gotta run.”

“Barry,” Iris says as he stands up, “About the other thing. From before. Don’t feel sorry.” He stares down at her for a moment before understanding breaks across his face. Iris holds up a hand, forestalling him. “It _is_ too soon. I’m not…I’m not ready.” She takes a breath. “But you should know. I’m not sorry either.”

A smile flashes across his face, brilliant as the sun. He contains himself with a visible effort. “Okay. Right.”

Iris stands as well, gathering up her things. “Well. I’ll see you later,” she says.

“Yeah,” Barry says, and the happiness in his voice is contagious. “Later.”

She smiles at him one last time, and turns to go back to work. There will be a later, and she is grateful for every moment that had to happen in order to arrive at this here and now. She's Iris West, and she's going to make every moment count.

**


End file.
